


tongue screwed shut in the wild lilac of my body

by Ghostigos



Series: when all echoes turn gold [1]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Autistic Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Cultural Alienation, Established Relationship, Jewish-Coded Character, M/M, Sukkot | Tabernacles, Trans Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Tu BiShvat | The 15th of Shevat (Judaism)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostigos/pseuds/Ghostigos
Summary: It'snotan identity crisis, or whatever Moomintroll may think — he's simply doing some exploration into his lineage for their children's sake, so they have a clear understanding of their heritage. Isn't that respectable?He's always been fine with some questions never being answered, anyway. This is no exception.(It is an exception.)Alt: Snufkin tests the waters.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Series: when all echoes turn gold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707049
Comments: 18
Kudos: 46





	tongue screwed shut in the wild lilac of my body

**Author's Note:**

> ( _phantom-bruise, torn tether, feral orphan_ — now my body thaws; i am unsealed, i am incandescent)
> 
> since this is clearly alluding to fantasy judaism i'd recommend doing your own research on the holidays and rituals aforementioned in this fic, and just research in general to understand the history/symbolism behind the irl celebrations. there have been obvious tweaks to the ceremonies in question to fit the setting - i'll leave some links down below that i used!
> 
> anyway jewish!snufkin is very important to me. also lovekids. i was gonna introduce them properly in another fic but HAH

There's a myth about mumriks you heard, once — if you were to keep track of where and when you picked up your tales you'd be pondering much too long and your audience will dwindle; and so like anything you stuff it into your pocket with the owner's name scratched off.

So. There's a myth where mumriks are the only creatures born with earth embedded in their flesh and fur, and the water in their bodies has a drop from each of the seven seas. They're restless because their blood boils with the desire to return to every section of the world they were crafted from.

It's silly and clearly untrue, but for a while this was all you had, and it _did_ make you feel special, to give yourself a name bigger than _you._

When Moomintroll came along, it was still fine. You were in no hurry to define the gardens trapped in your body, there was no need to. It was fine, because neither Moomin nor his family and friends asked anything else but what you could provide, and what you knew.

It was fine, until there were three bodies pressed up into your stomach for warmth, smaller than shrews, and they fit just right in your palms and you cradled them and your only thought was, _Oh._

They're wonderful: a ginger, fluffy moomin with splotches of white that have mellowed into freckles the more she grows; a joxter with ink-black eyes and dark hair, and pupils whiter than moons; a mumrik with white hair and pale fur, with a flash of white on their thin, moomin tail. They play in the meadows with dirt caked in their fur, with clover and honeysuckle trapped in their hair. They also smell a bit weird: a conglomerate of the sweet scents of Moomintroll, but something husky and earthy like yourself.

They're lovely because they take enough parts of Moomintroll and yourself, and meld it into something new. An ode, perhaps.

It's fine until it isn't.

From your time in the valley you know there is dirt that will never escape your paws. There is also a pattern that never leaves your head, and sometimes it takes your heart longer to catch up and propose something different: that perhaps, you're not happy with being a _something_. There's more of you now, more hybrids, and they cling to your cloak like needy things. And maybe by now you ought to explain yourself. It's no longer enough to just exist.

You're glad to have a family — that's what it is and you can say it without flinching now. But you had one before Moomintroll; no one appears out of clams or seed but the fortunate, and you're too marrow-tressed to have a drop of magick in your veins. There's only so much leeching you can do off the Moomins before you feel as intrusive as ticks you pick off your tail.

-

Your eldest, the moomin daughter, smacks her paws excitedly against the checkered tablecloth, and with the sweltering heat of summer boiling the valley her ginger fur scatters about with every excited swing of her arms.

"One more trick!" she shouts. "Please? Just one more so I can see!!"

"You're just going to get the string tied up on your claws," your middle-child sighs from across the way, "and I'm not going to help you untie it."

You've shuffled your chair so you can sit eye-to-eye with Lil Muff, her squirrelly tail wagging about and her bare feet kicking your shins. Snapdragon, ever the mediator, looks across the way with their cheek squished onto their black paw.

"Now, now, practice is the best method to any craft," you chide gently, stuffing away your display of a Cat's Cradle. "I've had my fair share of knotted fingers, you know. Let your sister learn at her own pace."

"I wasn't trying to be mullish," Snap mutters under their breath, but turns away as your partner arrives with lunch before there's any squabble.

Moomintroll chuckles in a low octave as he gives Snap a pat on their head, minding their budding Mymble horns (fatter and shorter compared to your own). "Alright, kit, settle. We're all a bit crabby due to the heat, after all. There should be no need for unnecessary feuds."

"Yeah, _kit_ ," Lil Muff sticks her tongue out and you cough her way with a warning.

You peer overhead to the luncheon piled up on Moomin's broad arms, the showoff. "Is that mackerel?" you ask, frowning a bit. "Are you sure that's still good? It's been in the icebox for about a week now."

"Nothing a few spices can't save," Moomintroll replies, placing a dish in front of each respective family member. "And it's not like it's been simmering out on the veranda."

"That's true," you hum, then pocket away the string as your daughter whines in disappointment. You scoot your chair in and quickly amend, "We'll practice as long as you like in a bit."

Her eyes gleam.

"Thank you, Pappa," Snap says politely as their dish is served, and the rest of you follow suit. Moomintroll smiles fondly as he seats himself next to you, his paw finding yourself as easily as a rehearsed rhythm.

 _Should we pray first?_ your youngest asks — and the most silent until provoked on whim. Pluckey sits next to Snap with a few inches between them, and their blue eyes scrunches with inquiry. The coon-like mask encircling their brows and sockets tighten.

"Pray?" you repeat, nonplussed.

They explain, _Ms. Fillyjonk prays before her meals — she gets her children to thank someone or another for the food, I think. I was only half-listening. She got mad at me for eating my chili when her eyes were closed._

You share a look with Moomintroll. He turns back to speak for you both, "Erm, well...I suppose we _could_ start that, if you wanted."

"Why don't we?" Snap asks.

The concept in itself makes you antsy for a reason you can't pinpoint — like when Moominmamma gifted you with trousers that were much too new and pressed, and it felt odd in areas you didn't know were possible.

"Ew, I don't wan't to be like a _Fillyjonk!_ " Lil Muff remarks, her expression a rude grimace. "Auntie My says that Fillyjonks are born with nettle and thorns in their backside. That's why they're so prickly."

"What a cruel thing to say!" Moomintroll scolds. "It's unkind to shoehorn folk like that, Lil Muff."

"Well, _I_ heard that moomins can breathe underwater because they're birthed from lilypads," Snap asserts. "We don't. I tried."

"But we're not _all_ moomin," Lil Muff protests. "We have mumrik blood too, which means...um."

When her head whips to face you it feels like a dagger in the forehead, and suddenly her round green eyes shift into thousands of slanted, piercing ones.

"What _does_ it mean to be a mumrik?" she asks you.

It's the same tone she used to ask you if ladybug spots determine their age (they don't) or if a watermelon will grow in her stomach from swallowing seeds (only if you take your cough medicine like a good girl). There's no _drop_ of accusation, but oh can you hear it. It's there and as vibrant as a sour tune in your ears.

"...Snufkin?" 

Moomintroll has caught wind of your delay, his eyes boring into the side of your skull with emanated concern. You just smother your face in the half-expired fish on rye, with something stiff in your gut that you can't name. But it hardens the longer the silence goes on.

Snap, luckily, pulls the table out from its awkward funk by saying, "Well, _I_ don't want to do any tradition that a Fillyjonk would do. No matter _what_ we are, we certainly aren't as snobbish."

"Here, here," Lil Muff concedes, her former question discarded — and still you toy with it.

"...Moomins don't have a _prayer_ , per se," Moomintroll shifts the topic, "We just thank the giver of the meal for their service — but that's just common courtesy."

"Well, we've already thanked you," you manage through the haze in your throat, "So I suppose that's prayer enough."

"Aw," Moomintroll blushes to his ears.

_I already ate while you all were arguing, _Pluckey signs as they shuffle off of their chair; you eye their plate to see that they did, in fact, gorge their candied nuts and fish, their lemonade glass already empty. They excuse themself and sign something over in Snap's direction, and it's foreign to you but it must be crude based on how Snap's ears pin downward and their pupils glower.__

____

__You tell Pluckey to be kinder, and then you continue your meals like nothing catastrophic occurred._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__Moomintroll's noticed that something has been lingering from the table into the rest of the afternoon, then evening; now you sit with shoulders brushing on the bed, the dim glow of his bedside lantern distributing soft light about the room. You lie in his bed staring up at the protruding beams on his ceiling, curved like ribs, arms straight and resting at your sides like you're a corpse._ _

____

__"...Now would you like to talk about what's been bothering you?" Moomintroll's voice wafts throughout the room like a slow breeze. You feel the silk pillows beneath you shift as he rests his muzzle to the side, facing you._ _

____

__"Moomin," you try after a breath, "what sort of ceremonies do...moomins carry? Do you know?"_ _

____

__"Hmm," he thinks a minute, but it doesn't take long for him to answer, "Well, of course there's the midsummer bonfire! And hibernation, naturally, but it's not anything grand as you know. It's more of just exchanging pine needles between our friends and family — we always pick our own and then we sprinkle some and mugwort under our pillows. And we have a large quilt that Mamma makes with a special kind of needle and thread, and on it is a square for every person we hold dear, that we'd like to be connected to in the afterlife."_ _

____

__"I've never seen this quilt," you put in, glancing over._ _

____

__"Oh, it's bad luck to show those who aren't moomins."_ _

____

__"Ah."_ _

____

__"But does that help?" He tosses a brow your way. "I'm not sure if it's considered anything religious or 'sacred', but it's ours, and we cherish it all the same."_ _

____

__"Hm," you look away when you ask, "And you know of your ancestors' traditions?"_ _

____

__"Oh, yes! We used to be the fuzziest things," Moomintroll laughs a little. "And rather tall, at one point. And we'd burrow into small hollows and stoves — until humans chased us off, the selfish lot. Without heat we packed on fat and fuzz to survive the dreadful winters, and we'd dance around bonfires to celebrate the gods blessing us with luscious summer harvests."_ _

____

__He stops; there must be a flicker of something rather undiplomatic that dances along your face in the amber glow. "Why do you ask?"_ _

____

__"No reason," you say. If you're overwhelmed you know there's no chains; you're free to retreat into the guest bedrooms or the childrens' bed, since they all sleep in their blanket fort. Or your campsite, maybe even a hollow or tree if you so please._ _

____

__"...You're our family as well," Moomin whispers. "You know that, don't you?"_ _

____

__The bed narrows when you answer, "I know."_ _

____

__You're certain he didn't mean to imply that you're just a raggedy, poor soul they found on the doorstep, that you're a black sheep they've bleached white._ _

____

It still _feels_ that way, terribly enough. Because the fact of the matter is that you've had three mymble-mumrik-moomin-heavens-knows-what kits that were sown into your belly and you don't know where they've gotten _anything_ from.

____

__Moomintroll takes this for a ceasefire, and presses his snout to your cheek before turning away. "Night, then."_ _

____

__"Goodnight," you say._ _

____

__He shushes the lantern on his side so you're engulfed in black. You fold your paws over your chest and frown deeper than you might have with the lights on._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__The bonafide essentials of your species you're aware of, because you've lived as you long enough to know your diets and capabilities. That's not what you're looking for._ _

____

There _are_ fragments of culture you've caught whiffs of, so clearly there's something to search for; you remember being puzzled but not disgusted when you were still carrying the kits and the home nurse addressed you as 'they' right off, then explained apologetically that many mumriks she's worked with preferred that term. So you know _that_ much: their disgust for labels transcends all aspects of their character.

____

__Since Moominpappa's atelier has been gathering dust you doubt you'd be disturbed if you plucked some needy books off their shelves for study. You've nudged the typewriter that's been stuck on one paragraph to the side and seat yourself in Moominpappa's chair, having closed the door so when it creaks you'll know when to hastily flip the page._ _

____

__It's all twaddle; just observations of mumriken, not true in-depth explorations into why they do what they supposedly do. Half of this stuff you know already: that you're nomadic and a disgusting, selfish wretch that has sex to survive and steals what's not theirs. But how will you tell your children that? What about you is golden enough for a proper history, like magick quilts and midsummer bonfires?_ _

____

__The door whines with an announcing presence, and with a skipped heartbeat you toss the book and find interest in a paragraph about earthworms._ _

____

__Snap peers in through the doorframe, and as usual you can't pinpoint what they're thinking. "Hullo," they say._ _

____

"Hullo yourself," you say. "What do you need, _sötnos?_ "

____

__They look about the room before stepping in properly, leaving the door propped open so the buttery-yellow light of the hallway glides across to where you're sitting. They glance at the surmounted piles of books on their grandfather's old desk, tilting their head a bit._ _

____

__"I don't see you in here," they ask, "What are you doing?"_ _

____

__"Just reading," you try. "Do you come in here often while Moomingrandpa is gone?"_ _

____

__"Often, yes," they respond, gallant. Their slick mymble tail flicks about through their orange dress as they peer about the room, looking for something in particular. "I need a reference for my ship in a bottle. The mast is uneven and I can't connect it to the hull."_ _

____

__"Oh, I can assist with that," you say warmly. "Give me a moment and I'll come help."_ _

____

__They don't seem to notice how your arm is draped heavily over the title of your collections; they shrug and say, "Fine," and you reach out to pat their soft, flyaway hair._ _

____

__Snap escapes your paw too soon, and you feel a brief ruefulness for having forgotten their touch aversions. "May I have a penny?" they ask suddenly._ _

____

__You blink. "What for, dear?"_ _

____

__They lift their shoulders a bit, frown lopsided. "If I gain enough pennies, they'll change into a dollar."_ _

____

__"Well, well, I can't argue with that," you fish around in your pockets before coming across something small, round, and cold, and you plot it into their expectant little paws. "How many have you collected thus far, chickadee?"_ _

____

__"Seven."_ _

____

__"My, you're halfway there! Well done," you beam, then wave them off. "Now off you go, I'll be there in two shakes."_ _

____

__Snap nods, scurrying off to the door pooling light into the study, diligently closing it behind them. You look after them, bottling in a sort of melancholic sigh, then open the books again._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__(No one will notice the pages torn from the books, you reason. They'll hardly be missed anyway, and the books themselves will surely be noticed if they're out of their proper places.)_ _

____

__-_ _

____

__You wade through the heavy catgrass and wildflower to reach the middle of the pasture, endowed in sunshine that's dried the stalks, and only flecks of green are speckled about the field. Overhead the sun beats relentlessly, with not even the fluffed clouds providing any sanction from the heat._ _

____

__Your main concern is, of course, the children overheating in this weather, particularly Lil Muff with all her fur. So you've thrown a damp towel over her ears and are guiding her through the grass, occasionally pouring water from your canteen into the cloth just in case._ _

____

__Moomintroll has graciously offered to lug about the heavier equipment; you, meanwhile, are bestowed with carrying the snack basket and leading the children to the designated spot in the meadow. Pluckey is strapped to your back with a yellow cloth since physically they're the frailest; Lil Muff holding your paw to your right visually impaired; Snap to your left, who isn't holding your paw like their sister but clutches the hem of your warn garments, picking their steps carefully._ _

____

__Eventually you've trawled your family about long enough and you settle in the gully you've scoped out days prior. The excess plants in the soil have been scraped away with your claws, ensuring that no roots will kinder troubles during the building of your sukkah._ _

____

__So, according to Moominpappa's disjointed records, mumriks used to celebrate these sorts of festivals as a pack, but centuries of cultural upheaval have left the purpose of community a bit dated. But if this just equates to setting up camp, essentially, then this should go relatively smoothly._ _

____

__Moomintroll is tasked with setting up the main walls, with wood and cinderblock he's carried all the way from Moominhouse (bless him); you enlist the children's help with weaving pine branches with corn stalks for the roofing — Lil Muff is enthusiastic to assist her father but your worry of her burning to a crisp has you settling her into your crossed lap, and she begrudgingly joins._ _

____

__Your fingers are steady and knowing as you guide the children along in their weaving; the stalks are tight and hard from the dry temperatures, it promises a sturdy rooftop._ _

____

This structure is more of a meld between your knowledge of building tarpaulins and being _extremely_ concerned about missteps and defaming this ancient practice; it's bound to come out sloppy because you're so _frightened_ with messing this up and wroughting shame onto your ancestors, and wasted time onto your family now.

____

__But you quiet your tongue about this, and the sour sensation trembles down your mane and breastbone. The children finish tying the branches with raffia, and you shower them in praise until their grins are brighter than the sun._ _

____

__Finally, you get atop Moomintroll's shoulders to balance the roof atop the three walls — you'd left one wall exposed to the outdoors, and you'll likely cover it with one of Moominmamma's old curtains in the linen closet. You tug in the bits of thread and raffia to assure it doesn't blow off, and then give a thumbs-up below so Moomintroll sets you back down._ _

____

__The children scuttle about in glee, flapping their paws about. You look over the finished product, taking a few steps back, aligning with Moomintroll. You test out, "It looks nice."_ _

____

__Moomintroll lists a glance. "You think?"_ _

____

"I think," you repeat, still uncertain. Pluckey tugs on your dress happily and signs, _We made that!_ signaling to the sukkah before you.

____

__...You think you're supposed to feel a sense of ancient completion. Like a puzzle piece that Little My has hidden under the couch cushions and you're delighted to have uncovered it._ _

____

__Instead you feel a bit slanted; a misspelling in a novel._ _

____

__-_ _

____

Lil Muff proudly showcases the stark palms and soft willows she and Snap were instructed to gather, splaying them across the harlequin rug that Moomintroll brought. "We didn't find any palm leaves," she explains. "But Pluckey didn't get _their_ thing at all."

____

_In my defense,_ Pluckey glares at their sister, _I don't even know what a...E-E-T-R-A-C is._

____

"An _etrog_ ," you correct, fingerspelling it for them, which they swiftly mirror. "And that's alright, the valley doesn't supply those nor palm trees anyway. They're found in humid countries."

____

__"So, an orange instead?" Moomintroll fishes through the snack basket to unearth the substitute citrus — fresh from the private grove you looted it from. It's not what you wanted, but it's going to have to suffice lest you wanted to use spotted lemons._ _

____

__"Alright," you peer down at the ingredients. "So now we have...three plants for the ceremony. I'll tie the branches together, and then we'll wave these about."_ _

____

__"What for?" Snap asks._ _

____

__"For..." You don't know. "It's just tradition, is all."_ _

____

__They don't seem appeased, so Moomintroll asserts, "I remember you telling me that we hold the citrus in this paw," he takes the orange in his left, "and the branches in the other," his right. "Am I correct?"_ _

____

"Some text says it's the other way around, but..." You shield half of your face with your hat so no one can see how humiliated you're feeling, the shame bright on your cheeks. "Okay, next is a blessing, the, ah..." _Consarn it._ "Well, the name for the prayer is too long. What's in a name anyway!"

____

_A prayer like Fillyjonk?_ Pluckey inquires.

____

__"Yes! Why not!" You want to wither away._ _

____

__"That sounds right to me," Moomintroll assures you, then asks, "So, the blessing, then?"_ _

____

__Your face creases as you try to recall the scripture, even skidding through the torn pages from Moominpappa's books which you've brought with you. The problem is that it's just all crumpled nonsense._ _

____

__The air grows thick like a band of wasps as your family awaits your instruction._ _

____

__Your hat lowers fully over your face now, and you mutter, "I don't know."_ _

____

__There's a beat, before Moomintroll says much too airily, "Well, that's fine then! I'll just set these over to the side until we can decide what to do with them — there's no rush."_ _

____

That's not what it's _supposed_ to do, to just sit off to the side and do _nothing_. It _has_ to have some sort of purpose; why else would your ancestors have descended this knowledge? Maybe they're just taunting you, a half-blood, and this is all just a big joke to them, and now you shaming your childrens' heritage is the punchline.

____

__That's probably it._ _

____

__"Children!" Moomintroll gathers their attention with a light clap of his paws. "Are you ready to set up the decorations?"_ _

____

__"Yes!" They all spring to their feet in unison. Lil Muff reaches into her father's satchel, announcing, "I brought some drawings to put on the walls!"_ _

____

__"Your macaroni art?" Snap sighs, but doesn't wait for her sister's argument, continuing, "I just hope my bottle didn't break on the way over — I padded it with enough newspaper, I think."_ _

____

__Pluckey pulls out a small necklace embedded with critters and a couple of sand dollars, and that seems to content them enough._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__Since the bugs are especially nippy after dinnertime (buttered squash and challah in honey — which was squished into a pathetic shape on the hike over), you let your family retreat to Moominhouse for the night. The children wave goodbye as Moomintroll whisks their drooping tails and yawning bodies back home beneath an ivory moon._ _

____

__So now you reside alone in the sukkah till morning — tradition says that all meals must be eaten here, after all. To drive away the mosquitoes you slather yourself in vinegar, not minding the nose-scrunching reek, and continue your nightly routines like you're back in your tent. You settle onto the floor in an old flannel mat, pleased with the texture that's prickled from many washes. It gives your paws something to skim over._ _

____

__The ceiling's gaps in the knitted boughs has the moonlight dappled onto your blankets and camping equipment. The dried flowers Moomintroll brought hang by some twine on the top of the entrance — the blue of dusk dulls the flowers' colors but you watched him hanging up lavender, and you can recognize bishop's lace from the speckled, tiny white buds. Your children's decorations litter the sukkah with a splash of comfort, and in the corner — shoved aside to make room for dinner — lies that atrocity of orange, willow, and pine._ _

____

__However much this should equate to sleeping in your tent, there's a colony of ants riding up your spine because you have no right to be here._ _

____

— _What are you doing?_

____

__Tail flicking out of your blankets, you rise from your bed and reach for your tinderbox._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__By the time Moomintroll returns — evident by his loud yelp of horror halfway across the meadow — you're already packing up and slinging your luggage over your shoulder._ _

____

You don't look at him when he arrives, but you hear him rushing through the grass in a mince. He yells, "What _happened??_ "

____

__"I burned it down," you say._ _

____

"You... _why???_ " His voice climbs in alarm.

____

__You step away from the lingering ash of what was once a sacred (and highly flammable) site; you grit the skeletal remains of some branches under your pads for decent measure. If you were more undignified you'd likely spit on it._ _

____

__"Thank you for your help, Moomintroll," you give what's supposed to be a gracious smile, but it's flattened too quickly. "I know now that this has been a pointless charade. I'm sorry for dragging you into these obsolete customs."_ _

____

__"Snuf—"_ _

____

"I'm not even full-mumriken," you try to shrug, with something colossal roaring in your ears. "So perhaps this blasphemy wouldn't anger my ancestors _too_ terribly. If they care enough," you laugh, hollow. "Perhaps they don't."

____

__Moomintroll just stares at you agape._ _

____

__"My drawings!!" Lil Muff wails as she sprints over to the remains of the sukkah on all fours; her siblings pursue not far off with equally-shocked expressions._ _

____

__"There now, don't cry, Muffin," you venture through the side-pockets of your pack at an awkward angle, but eventually you uncover the drawings and trinkets that each respective child brought. "I salvaged only the important things."_ _

____

__The kits reach out to obtain their decor, but they still appear unsettled. Moomintroll tucks them into his side, and the face he's boring into you is blossoming into something that makes you feel very rotten._ _

____

__"I'm off," you walk off in haste, calling over, "Don't fetch me for dinner!"_ _

____

__You leave them by the burnt sukkah. The ridgeline between hatred and shame blurs in your mind._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__You spend the afternoon lonely but the patterns you sink into are easy as breathing. You wash the smoke from your clothes in the river, and you fish, and you read a book about the biology of conger eels, and you tie in some small flowers into the knots of your hair and mane, and you crochet, and for lunch and dinner you eat some tinned beans. The sun stretches overhead until it reaches the peaks of the mountaintops, dipping the valley into night, and you duck back inside your tent. You change into some spare nightclothes and rub your palms with some chamomile oil Moominmamma had gifted last autumn._ _

____

__It feels better to settle back into old rituals. You shuffle about in your sleeping bag until the weight of the morning's ordeal makes your thoughts heavy._ _

____

__—Until a little racket from your lain hat catches your attention, and Pluckey pokes their head out from underneath the brim. Their white hair is so bright against the dusk, like glow-worms are stuck in their fluffy locks. Even without night-eyes like their siblings, they stare you down with pale pupils just as harshly._ _

____

__You sigh and just look at them wearily. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"_ _

____

_I couldn't sleep,_ is all they say.

____

__"It's no good to sneak around," you warn. "If Moominpappa doesn't find you in your bed he'll have a fright."_ _

____

__But they don't budge, and you don't kick them out._ _

____

_Do you want to get drunk?_ Pluckey asks after a tick.

____

__You sputter. "Excuse me??"_ _

____

__For clarification they point to your canteen, which lay next to their ribbon-enlaced tail._ _

____

__"I...oh," you'd laugh harder if you were in a better mood. "You spelled out 'drunk'." You mimic the proper sign for 'drink': forming a 'C' with your palm and bringing the thumb to your mouth. Pluckey amends their mistake, looking a bit flustered._ _

____

__"I'm not mad," you smile, but it's too thin. You do take the offer, though, reaching for the canteen; the arson against your ancestors and radical blasphemy on your heritage has left you rather parched._ _

____

__As you wipe the liquid dripping from your lips, Pluckey moves forward to knead into your sleeping bad with their short claws. You shift to make room for them as they cozy up their sleeping space, tiny purrs rocking their body. And then they lie down, curled up like they're a tiny kit again into the crook of your stomach._ _

____

__You prop yourself up on one elbow to peer down at them, asking hesitantly, "You're not angry, are you?"_ _

____

They look up at you and have to unravel their arms from underneath their stomach to sign, _Why?_

____

__You tumble down onto your back, gazing up at the pinched ceiling of your tent. "You and your siblings worked incredibly hard on that sukkah. I shouldn't have destroyed it."_ _

____

They shrug with a lopsided half-smile. _It's okay. It was funny._

____

__"What was?"_ _

____

_You setting things on fire is funny,_ they explain, then flop onto their back so they can splay their paws to the sky with outstretched fingers, pantomiming fireworks.

____

__You can't help but chuckle at their display. "Well, I don't condone burning things without reason — especially sacred things. It might mean something important to someone else, even if you don't know it. You understand?"_ _

____

__Pluckey nods, flipping over to their side again and tucking their paws behind their cheek._ _

____

__You wrap your arm around them, your body melding into theirs to blanket them in warmth. "You may only burn park signs," you say, "and the Park Keep's shoes."_ _

____

_Okay._

____

__"I love you very much, dear."_ _

____

__Pluckey murmurs acknowledgment before drifting off to sleep. Your eyes sear holes into the tinderbox splayed across the camp's floor, but you soon doze off as well._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__Moomintroll finds you amongst the long grass where only birds nest, in a secluded thicket that so dense it chokes your body. He sits at your side. You continue eating your jam with a spoon._ _

____

__"Pappa is a bit cross about the pages in his books," he says._ _

____

__"I'm afraid I burned them in the fire," you respond. "I'll get him more books this winter."_ _

____

__Moomintroll makes a murmured noise you don't begin to interpret; he doesn't pry further, like he might've when you were younger and it rankled you more then. Instead he waits for you to unravel, and his ears prick with the whining of cicadas nearby._ _

____

__It's troubling that he knows you so well._ _

____

__You settle the half-empty jar in your lap, and then the spoon._ _

____

__"Several winters back I traveled to a southeastern country," you begin, tasting the words on your tongue and hoping they stick. "I'd helped uproot some dandelions from this couple's yard and they begged me to stay with their family for some sort of festival. They wanted me to play the sarod at the event, in exchange for some bayberry wax."_ _

____

__Moomintroll melts in the grass with his muzzle protruding from the tall weeds._ _

____

__"I don't remember much of it, there was too much color and noise that I wasn't able to wrap my mind around what was happening," you go on. "I do remember a bonfire was held, and they had some of sweetest rice I've ever tasted. There was dancing, too. Lots of it. I was both enthralled and frightened by the masses of gold and silk, I didn't know if anyone was dancing to my music at all, really. Everything was too loud._ _

____

__"I felt out of place. Their hearts were kind to want to invite me, but...when I left, everyone continued to dance."_ _

____

__Moomintroll's eyes slowly somber with understanding, and he nods. "I see..."_ _

____

__"Also," you grimace, "there was one lad whom I think was trying to poison drinks, and he offered me one, and that might've been why I felt so dizzy."_ _

____

__"A fiend!" Moomintroll springs up in fury. "How awful, to be so stagnant in romance that you must create your own sick fun! Did you see him do anything else atrocious?"_ _

____

__You laugh a bit, despite. "Lashon hara, dearest Moomin."_ _

____

__"Ah," he says, pretending to understand._ _

____

__"My point being," you clasp the lid onto your jam and store it away accordingly, "is that's how I feel when it comes to mumriken holidays. Like I'm a traveller in a town I don't belong in."_ _

____

__"Snufkin..."_ _

____

"I feel like a book that's been torn and written all over," you collapse forward onto your knees. "I thought for so long that being undefinable was freeing and lovely, and isn't it nice that I don't have roots that keep me glued down — but it's _not._ "

____

"No one is asking you to explain yourself, hon," Moomintroll's paws stroke circles into your backside. "You're not obligated to prove that you're _anything_."

____

__"...You're a moomin," you turn to him abruptly, and you've clearly spooked him so you mellow your approach. "It's in your name, and you've been raised under a roof with fellow moomins that retell their history and celebrate it, and I can't do the same."_ _

____

__"I didn't— mean it like that," Moomintroll removes his paw, trodden. "I'm sorry, I know my experiences aren't the same, and my life is rather cushiony—"_ _

____

__"No," you sigh, shaking your head. "I like that about you. The children...they deserve that much in a parent."_ _

____

__"Is that what this is about?" His tone shifts._ _

____

__"...I don't know."_ _

____

__Moomintroll's eyes fold into the shape of almonds as he looks on in sympathy, and you finally drop your muscles into the grass. In surrender you stew in quiet._ _

____

__"Parenting isn’t about being a dictionary, Snuf," he murmurs at last. "The children don't think you're a bad parent just because you don't know how to say ancient blessings."_ _

____

__He brings you close with an arm around your waist, and you sigh into the thick fluff on his shoulders. Your fingers tap around the tips of your covered knees, feeling that syrupy, yellow sensation of comfort seep into your old bones._ _

____

__"I think all this is," Moomintroll tries carefully, "is you trying to understand why you feel incompetent as a father — or a partner, really. And don't stare at me like that, I've seen how you hesitate on that bridge in winter." (you drop your glare in front of you, instead) "And now you're questioning your lineage to see if there's any answer there, because you've never been connected to your bloodline. And so, by extension, you're worried that the detachment will extend to our children."_ _

____

__You decide that picking at fur on your wrists in better than burrowing your face into the dirt and screaming. These excavations into your person always come too heavyhanded and if you were any younger, you'd have fled by now in a much-too-theatrical manner._ _

____

You instead groan. "Okay, right, I'll level with you — _yes_ , but also," you sink further into his side. "I've thought for so long that being tied to _anything_ is profane. I want to change that — I want to learn respect. Something's been taken from me, and for once, I'd like it back."

____

__Moomintroll ponders, and he finally nods without a sliver of doubt. "Okay," he murmurs quietly. "It's not much, but...I'll do what I can. I'll help you get it back."_ _

____

__You press your nose into his fur — smells like raw honey and the sage that the Moomins cleanse their house with. "Thank you."_ _

____

"Thank _you_ ," Moomintroll says, and around you the bugs sing.

____

__-_ _

____

__When you return to your campsite all three children turn to you from your bedside. Snap is the one to explain, "We'd like to learn more knotting techniques, please."_ _

____

__"Is that so?" You settle back onto your knees and the children gather around as you hand them colored string. "Suppose my rickety self has a few more tricks in me."_ _

____

_Can you do a tarot reading next?_ Pluckey asks.

____

__"And then fishing!!" Lil Muff wags her tail. "I wanna fish!!"_ _

____

__You smile until your cheeks hurt._ _

____

__-_ _

____

Before you leave for winter you're given a burgundy book with crisp, golden text, entitled: _Footprints of the Nomadics: The Lost Traditions of the Mumriken._

____

__Moominmamma sweeps you into a hug when tear droplets collect on the front of the page, smoothing your hair. She says that there will be plenty of books to borrow across many libraries during your travels. She says there's no such thing as a lost colony._ _

____

__Moominpappa then suggests that perhaps you don't shred any books you borrow next time, and Moominmamma gives him the softest nudge with her elbow._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__The night is a crushed violet, the gulf of stars winking into proper view. The grove you reside under is still thin with cold so you can see the constellations above._ _

____

__You've spent the day planting seeds into the earth, blessing every one with a personalized blessing before they've covered in soil. It's not exactly what the holiday entails, but you still liked the sound of it._ _

____

__You're trying not to feel odd about practicing old customs your species appears to have abandoned, or maybe they're like you and have no real knowledge of the events due to information being so sparse. But reclaiming it feels like a birthright._ _

____

__You sit below the stars, satisfied with the seeds you've sown; they'll grow into luscious plants that you won't eat from for a couple years, and when you do harvest them they'll be ripe and tender._ _

____

__Moomintroll helps you settle the picnic basket and wool blankets onto a smooth patch of dirt, ensuring no rocks will prod at the childrens' backsides. Once you're settle you watch them trade figs and dates so you won't see them not eating their dried fruits. You raid the pomegranate seeds and toss many into your mouth, giving them a chew until their juice spurts onto your tongue. Moomintroll fancies himself the wheat berries, and you eat in relative silence as your tails link together like a second language._ _

____

__Suppose that someday you'll be accustomed to this gnawing up your ribcage, that you're not suitable for any of this. Parent, mumriken, lover even: all three titles twist about like rotten stew. Suppose you'll never be content, and wander the earth for centuries longer with blood in your veins that you'll never fully belong to. Suppose your children will keep asking questions until the answers peter out of you and they'll have to find their answers elsewhere, where you cannot reach._ _

____

__But that will be then, and this — your children settled onto your laps as though they can still fit there, and you and Moomintroll staring up at the boundless horizon as a single pair of eyes — this is now._ _

____

**Author's Note:**

> sukkot: [i](https://www.chabad.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/653493/jewish/Origin-of-4-Species.htm) | [ii](https://www.wikihow.com/Build-a-Sukkah) | [iii](https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/3012340/jewish/What-to-Expect-at-a-Sukkot-Meal-in-a-Sukkah.htm)  
> tu bishvat: [i](https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/tu-bishvat-ideas-beliefs/) | [ii](http://www.jewfaq.org/holiday8.htm)
> 
> [jewish genders](http://transtorah.org/) (yes there's more than two)
> 
> for general information i visited [chabad.org](https://www.chabad.org/) and [jewfaq.org](http://www.jewfaq.org/)
> 
> (also quick note: snapdragon is intersex genderfluid and uses they/them primarily, and pluckey is non-binary and uses they/them exclusively)


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